ᴏᴍɴɪꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ✵ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ✵

𝐈𝐕

☾ ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ☽
»»-------≪ °❈° ≫-------««

ᴛᴡ: ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ʜᴀʀᴍ

It's a black night, a thin sliver of moon appears and disappears as the clouds rush past. Every so often the brightest star in the sky peeks through the overcast; known to many as Sirius, known to Regulus as despair. Beneath it, he continues down the path alone, a wide driveway with tall, neatly up-kept hedges bordering either side. Charmed, pure-white peacocks trot majestically in every different direction unbothered. He's already nauseous, but the gaudiness of Lucius Malfoy makes his stomach turn even more.

Eventually an impressive manor appears before him from the shadows. A few figures of tall stature are noticeable in the light that glints in the diamond-paned windows of the first floor. Regulus wonders which one of them is Him, and nervously tugs down at his tie, suddenly the air is hard to breathe. Upon his approach, the doors slowly swing inward, though nobody visibly opens it. An involuntary sharp breath of air is sucked into his mouth, but once his eyes catch a glimpse of his greeter in the large, dimly lit hallway, he feels a bit more at ease.

"Regulus," Narcissa whispers. His elder cousin, except now her hair has been dyed platinum blonde. Of course she is still gorgeous, but he hates it. Hates how she changes herself for a man at all, especially one like Lucius. She pulls him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. "You look ghastly, darling, have you been eating?"

"Yes, Cissy." It's difficult for him to get annoyed with her fretting, after all, no one cares for Regulus quite like Narcissa does. "It's good to see you, truly."

She smiles, and then bites her bottom lip. "Yes, I only wish it was on better terms."

"Careful with your words," Regulus says, a whisper so low it's barely audible.

She nods. "Did you get the wedding invitation? June Eighteenth."

"Er, yes, I'll be there."

"Well, come along," Narcissa sighs wistfully, and Regulus knows the particular cause for her forlorn. She had cried, screamed, and begged him not to defile his left arm with the mark just two months ago, and now here she was, leading him past the pale-faced portraits on the wall straight to the man who she so desperately tried to keep him from. They stop before a heavy wooden door, and Narcissa hesitates for the space of a heart beat as her delicate fingers reach out to the bronze handle. "Remember who you are, Regulus."

Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Regulus only nods once in response. The mask of pride and dominance he's perfected over the years now shields his face; chin up, chest out, and shoulders back.

Silence permeates the air of Malfoy's drawing room. At the long, ornate table sits a dozen of tight-lipped and close-mouthed people, none of them glance his way. The only one who peers back at him is the Dark Lord himself, perched at the head of the table. It's a valiant effort to hold his gaze. A hairless, snakelike face with slits where nostrils should be and gleaming red eyes whose pupils are vertical. It's truly a horrid sight, but eye-contact is important, the boy had learned that at a young age.

"Regulus," announces his high, clear voice. Voldemort waves his hand, indicating the seat on his immediate right. "Have a seat."

Narcissa furtively squeezes his bicep before they separate to their allotted places. The newly blond sits beside her fiance, who is directly on the Dark Lord's left, and straight across from Regulus. Most of the eyes around the table follow the boy, some filled with envy. When he's seated, Bellatrix is on his other side with her pursed lips forced into a smile.